


take me dancing

by queenofthecon



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen (Web Series)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Face-Fucking, Light Dom/sub, Porn with Feelings, RPF, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Spanking, trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthecon/pseuds/queenofthecon
Summary: Claire hates being treated delicately. Luckily, Brad never does.Kinda.This is just basically devoid entirely of plot, to be honest. Claire and Brad and evolving sexcapades - ENJOY.
Relationships: Brad Leone & Claire Saffitz, Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	take me dancing

**Author's Note:**

> This came as a request from a nameless person who knows who they are. Thank you for reigniting the thirst traps that are Brad Leone's arms. I came out of this a changed person.
> 
> Fair warning - it's super explicit, a little on the Dom/sub side, use of pretty rough positions and immobility mentions. 
> 
> Please don't sue me - I'm trying to allieviate our anxieties right now and also have fun. Don't spread, don't share, don't take, don't forget to leave a comment if you liked it.

If there’s one thing Claire Saffitz can’t stand, it’s being treated _delicately_.

People have always underestimated exactly what she’s truly capable of taking, because they don’t want to upset her, or because they don’t expect her to be able to take criticism and improve or whatever. Frankly, she’s just fucking sick of being told she _can’t_.

Claire doesn’t accept that making homemade Starburst is impossible – she could do it; she knows deep down that she could do anything if people just let her _try_ and try and try again until it’s right. She wants, desperately, for people to have some faith in her since she tries so hard to have faith in herself.

It’s happened to her all her life, ever since she was in first grade and her teachers didn’t believe her when she told them she could read already and gave her baby books instead. There’d been so many times when she’d had to fight to get more, to be challenged instead of wrapped in cotton wool. Even now, Claire pushes back against piteous praise; it’s never satisfying when she knows she isn’t living up to her potential.

But Brad’s never been like that with her. It’s part of what she likes so much about him. What she loves so much about him.

Brad’s _different._

How many times has he pushed and pushed her, let her bounce ideas around and aided and abetted her experiments and adventures using power tools to create? He doesn’t do kid gloves or pedestals: when she gets shit wrong and needs to know, he tells her in no uncertain words – and she loves him for it. Brad’s praise is like nothing and nobody else’s because he never praises her for something that doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t treat her like she’s going to break if she gets on a fucking stepladder to get a waffle iron down from the high cabinets. It makes sense that he’d just cheer her on, tell her when she needs to take a break, or to just stop her pity party and do _better_.

Claire loves Brad, in every sense of the word.

Or she does, mostly.

There are times – many, many times – she will watch his hands be careful and measured at her bare thighs, never squeezing quite hard enough around her hips to bruise or make a mark. Brad makes her see stars and kisses her skin pink when she wants him to paint it red and make her feel him. His arms are what she fantasises about the most, his thick, strong arms pinning her to a flat surface to fuck her brains out. Claire has tried lately, more and more, to make him snap, to see what breaks him from holding back on her. But he doesn’t. Brad is so much more measured and patient and _sweet_ than she ever believed possible, like he’s scared she’ll break or run away from the full feel of all his pent-up passion. Claire knows exactly what he’s _capable_ of doing to her, what she knows deep down he wants to do. She feels it sometimes, sees a flicker in his eyes when she digs her nails into his back and clenches around him, how his jaw ticks and his hips stutter when she knows he wants to bend her in half and split her open. He’s _wild._

It’s there inside him. She _knows_ it is. Getting him to trust that she can take it is another thing entirely.

“I love ya, Claire, but c’mon, six months ain’t a real anniversary, babe,” Brad grins, clinking his glass with hers. He’s barely fitting on the stool at the bar next to her as it is, his legs crammed up against the countertop, the music around them just far enough away for them to hear each other. She’d giggle if there weren’t so many bad thoughts running through her head about the idea of him being too big to fit. She does love a challenge. “Any excuse to drink negronis and eat olives and ham, huh?”

“You know me too well,” Claire sips at her drink, keeping her eyes on his face. “It’s been a while since we had a real date night. You’ve been away, I’ve been working... and maybe I just wanted an excuse to wear a nice dress.”

He frowns for a second, arching a brow as he glances down her body, his gaze leaving a hot trail down her skin in its wake. “Nice ain’t the word I’d use for that dress, Claire.”

It had been shoved at the back of her closet, but Claire knew it was all she’d want to wear tonight. It’d drive him crazy. The deep forest green colour and tiny white flowers make her skin seem pink and pale and luminescent in the dusky light of the bar. It’s not even low cut or tight or short, not really. More skin than she’s used to showing, sure, but that’s not her dress’s best feature. The back is low enough to show the soft curves of her shoulder blades and pale freckles normally hidden from the world in her usual t-shirts and jeans and jumpsuits. The front is held together with tiny pearl-like buttons from neckline to hem. The loose fabric ruffles when she pulls her shoulders back; it strains and heaves and puckers up to give a hint to the bare skin underneath. No, he’s right – if you looked close enough, it was not a _nice_ dress.

(The back’s far too low for her to wear a bra, of course. That’s just common sense)

“What’s wrong with this dress? I _like_ this dress,” she mutters, smoothing down the skirt past her knees. “Maybe you just don’t deserve to see me in a dress like this.”

“S’alright, I guess,” he replies, grinning slyly. A slim hand settles on Brad’s leg, her fingernails tracing the seam of his pants and he shifts, looking down at her with heavy eyes, seemingly unable to divert attention from her. “It’s gonna be a short date night if you keep that up, Saffitz.”

“You’ve never disappointed me on that front, Brad,” she teases, beaming madly as his gaze falls straight to her chest when she moves. Her cheeks are already burning pink from wanting him. “Don’t get all soft on my account now.”

“Oh, so we’re playin’ that game?” Brad chuckles and shakes his head, dragging his eyes up to her face instead of her chest. His eyes are piercing and dark at the same time, looking into her soul over the top of his glass.

Something inside her is making her braver and more desperate to wind him around her finger; he’s been apart from her for two whole weeks with barely enough time for a phone call every other night, or a string of dirty texts, and – fuck – she just misses his arms tight around her. Brad has one hand gripping the back of her barstool solidly, so she’s even closer to him, encased and protected and _his_. Claire slides her palm to the middle of his thigh and drags her nails over the fabric intently, her face innocent as she sips her drink.

“_Please_. If I were playing a game,” Claire mutters, trying not to smile too much. “I’d be playing to win.”

She keeps her hand firmly over the top of Brad’s thick thigh, the muscle twitching underneath her grip as if he wants nothing more than for her to go higher. It’s what he does best, she thinks, holding back. To most people, Brad seems chaotic and unprepared, going with what feels right rather than logic but Claire knows him better than that. She’s seen him reign himself in, fold inwards and take other people into account before his own needs. It’s nice. It’s sweet. She just doesn’t want that: she wants all of him at once.

“No fuckin’ shit you’d win,” he says, voice a little strangled as she releases his thigh. “You’re too competitive, babe.”

Claire shrugs nonchalantly. “I like being on top,” she replies, licking her lips softly. “Besides, six months is definitely something to celebrate after all those years of you pining after me.”

“Sure, _I _was the one pining, Claire,” he grins easily, still with a grip on the back of her stool like he’s about to drag her into his lap. “Like you weren’t the one leaving me notes, ‘accidentally’ sending me pictures of your bare legs in the bathtub. Not so great at the subtlety, there.”

Her cheeks flush pink at the memory of that, another one fuelled by her latent need for him to desire her to the point of pain, she thinks. It’s easy enough to admit to things now, but a few months ago, Claire had taken 20 minutes to decide whether or not to send him that photo in the first place, one of her legs shiny and covered in thick bubbles strategically placed. At least her gamble had paid off in the end.

“I prefer the one you sent me last week when you were in Wisconsin,” she mutters, sidestepping the whole conversation. “Kept me warm at night, all alone.”

To her glee, his eyes flash dark and he smirks too, like he’s feeding off her energy, feeling it swell and grow between them, heated and dark the more she tries to wind him around her finger. Brad being away working for two full weeks can’t be a good thing if she’s this desperate for him to touch her – it verges on needy, on a craving she hasn’t been able to satisfy. Claire just blames it on them being in the middle of this honeymoon period of their relationship and the time away from each other, buried in work (even though she knows it’s not true). It has to be the reason she’s shifting in her seat, thinking about how the scruff on his face is longer, rougher, how red it would make her thighs.

“You like that, huh, Half-Sour?” he asks as her foot rubs up and down his calf, like she can’t bear to not be touching him, Brad’s jaw tensing as the sharp heel of her shoe ruffles his pants leg. “You miss me that much?”

Claire simply nods, looking up at him with wide, deep eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I did. This is the first night we’ve been together in like two weeks. I missed you so much. You miss me?”

“I always miss you,” Brad replies, a thumb barely brushing at the edge of her bare back, like he’s teasing her in repayment for her own. “More’n you know. Thinking all kinda shit about you just to get through the next day til I got to see that face again.”

There’s a smile on her lips, because she loves him. She loves that he missed her, that he’s got that flame of desire in his eyes the same as her, building and teasing out of their systems slowly, as if it’s their first time together again.

His blunt nail scratches softly at her skin and makes her shiver, makes her gasp when he digs in a little deeper and she has to press her thighs together, squirm on her seat from the feel of him. His forearms are bare from where his shirt sleeves are rolled up and she wants nothing more than to see them flex next to her head, pinning her wrists to a mattress. Claire _wants _him, like he’s the only craving that will satisfy her hunger.

“Dance with me?” she mumbles over that thick heat of music and people talking. They didn’t like the fancy places on nights like these, nights full of sticky summer skin and pent-up need, a spark in the air between them that reminds her of those months before they first discovered each other. “Please.”

“Like you gotta ask…” Brad smirks at her, gripping her wrist before sliding his hand into hers, clutching at her a little tighter than he usually does.

He’s all searing warmth and softness and strength when he wraps those arms around her, holds her close and just lets her drink it in as they dance, pressed tight and hot, his arm secure at her waist. Brad anchors her, his shoulders tense when she arches a brow at him silently.

She can feel that he’s itching to really touch her too: Brad’s fingers press insistently at her sides, taut and tense as they dance together, her arms looped around his neck like they’re shy teens trying to figure out what to do with desire. There are a million things she wants, and has no idea how to ask for, but Brad knows them all the same.

Their eyes are locked as she keeps a sliver of distance between them, knowing that if she did, he’d want her all the more. The thin, loose fabric of her dress is nothing compared to the heat of his hands on her sides, growing ever more desperate to get her closer. Brad’s fingers graze the top of her ass possessively, though, dragging her until she’s completely flush with his body and that’s _it_. He’s _hers_ – his jaw set and almost angry.

“_Brad…_” her voice catches as she’s met with a wall of him, solid and strong, and she feel him half-hard against her stomach through his pants. “Really?”

“You got any idea how beautiful you are, Claire?” he asks her earnestly, keeping her pressed tight against him. “Jesus Christ, lady, the things I wanna do to you. You got no fuckin’ clue what you’re messing with.”

It strikes Claire like a brick. Brad’s _big_. He’s tall, and broad and everything she’s not, and it’s _there_ in his face that she’s his possession tonight. Her body wants to just give in to him. It’s something primal inside her, she’s sure, brought out by the distance she’s had to put up with for two whole weeks when they shouldn’t be able to keep from touching each other; it’s like it’s all been condensed into this one night.

(It’s a lie, too. They’re always like this – passionate, bickering, fiery-hot)

“Did you think about me in Wisconsin?” Claire asks again, biting her lower lip softly as she leans in and presses her cheek to his chest, fingers playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He’s still getting hard as her body grinds against him, and her thighs quake when he groans in her ear. “I thought about you.”

“Every night, babe,” Brad mumbles, his arm firm and unyielding on her waist, grasping and possessive. “Sometimes twice a night.”

“Oh my God…” Claire replies as he slips his firm grip lower, skimming her hips to grab her round ass in his broad hands. “Hey!”

He grins darkly above Claire as she leans back, looking down with those sharp blue eyes. “Stop what?” he asks innocently. “I’m not doing anything, Claire. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Frustration bubbles up beneath her skin – he’s hard for her, in public, grinding and dancing, groping her and still hasn’t dragged her home so he can make her come. “You’re being _so mean_…”

But Claire has an idea to make him break. There’s a dark glint in her eye as her thigh presses up softly between his in retribution, barely grazing his crotch. If he wants to challenge her, she’s not gonna fucking back down now. Her slim hand starts to slink down from his neck, getting to his chest before he snatches her wrist.

Brad grips her slender arm with force and fire in his eyes, desire flowing between them like raging water. He holds her wrist tighter and tighter as she refuses to stop, her thigh moving just an inch or two before she feels all of him at once, the grip on her arm almost painful. Brad watches her face carefully, the soft parting of her lips and her caught breath.

“That what you want, Claire?” he growls, pulling her arm towards his chest, not letting his grip slide away. “Me to be mean? You want me to fuckin’ throw you over my shoulder? Or just want me to fuck you right here?”

There’s suddenly a heat sparking deep in her belly, with his fingers encircling her arm entirely, uncaring about how tight it feels, so tight it hurts, and – God – she wants him so bad. Her teeth bite down into her lower lip as they lock eyes, turning to a grin as she considers the idea.

For a second, he just blinks at her, focussed entirely on her flushed, hot face. “_Claire_…” he says, rough and low, like the idea of it has just hit him like a freight train. The free hand settles back firm on her ass and gropes even more intently, pulling her hips into his. Claire blushes as his eyes flare when he finally realises that she’s not got a speck of underwear on. “Seriously, no panties either?”

The heat on her cheeks is wild as she feels him tense, his face a war of need. “You do it. Thought I’d give it a go.”

He lets her wrist go, free from his bruising grip as if he’s finally realised it was there in the first place. “That’s one hell of a welcome home.”

She almost feels bad when she steps back as he goes to kiss her, laughing dirtily, putting distance between them. Brad’s face falls from shock to anger quickly as she tilts her head back, dancing by herself. One hand glides down her front as she dances, locking her eyes with his as her own fingers trace her curves.

What she isn’t prepared for is the darkness in his face – the deep desire dripping like liquid sex off his pretty face. Brad looks at her like he wants to eat her, swallow her whole, just to possess her body, except it’s already his.

This is a man who labels all of his kitchen equipment with his own name: Claire knows Brad wants to paint her skin with his marks, no matter how sweet he can be.

Claire twists and turns on the spot, the hem of her dress fluttering as she does, her chest almost bouncing as she pushes him harder and harder to break. Brad makes her like this, he makes her feel out of control with a need she’d never felt with any other man; every part could be falling to pieces and she’d still feel whole with him inside her, body and soul.

Only when she opens her eyes does she see what makes the dam truly break inside her boyfriend.

There’s one man staring hungrily next to her like he’s eating her too, grinding on his own girl while staring directly at Claire’s bouncing curves and the way her dress has slipped from her shoulders enough to show more of her pale skin. Sweat beads off her, makes her glow in the warm lights above and that’s when it happens – it drips down her chest, between her breasts and curves, the man’s eyes following its path as he licks his lips.

Two long strides and Brad’s there, grabbing her arm desperate and tight, dragging her away from the dancefloor and towards the door without a word. Claire clings on, trying to keep up as he cuts a path through the crowds, glaring at any man who comes even close. It’s when she breathes fresh air that he says the only two words she’s wanted to hear all night.

“Home. Now.”

\---

The door to Claire’s apartment rattles in the frame as Brad slams her up against it, his hands grabbing her hips insistently. He kisses her roughly and she matches him, dragging her teeth over his lower lip sharply enough to make him grunt and twist fistfuls of her dress at her thighs. The keys slip from her fingers onto her tiled floor as Brad growls, lifting her as easily, her legs wrapped around his waist until her heels dig into him. She can only clutch at his shoulders as he slides his lips to her jaw.

“Fuckin’ goddamn…” Brad growls into her mouth, ducking his head to lick at the dried sweat between her tits, biting down at the barest curve of soft flesh. “You liked that, didn’t ya? Cock tease is what y’are, Claire.”

She can’t speak, just nods as he shoves up the bottom of her dress to get his hands on her bare skin, trembling and hungry. Brad pulls her sticky thighs apart, the fabric of her dress gathered around her waist.

“Shit, oh fuck-”

“You can take me, can’t ya?” Brad says into her reddened neck, sliding his thick fingers over her cunt, dragging wetness around and dipping inside shallowly. He likes to do this, deny her until she begs him, until she’s whiny and needy. “Soaked, fuckin’ soaked, bet you been like that all night, ain’t ya? Wanna get off? Say please, Claire, maybe I’ll be nice.”

“Please, please, please, please,” she begs, trying desperately to press into his hand more. Brad pulls back, his spare hand wrapping and tugging at a fistful of her hair, sharp enough to sting and expose her neck. Fireworks spark along her quaking skin as he shoves two rough fingers inside her without warning. It burns so good, he’s so big and rough and she’s soaked but he’s just that much, she almost can’t take even his fingers. “Fuck, Braaaad!”

He fucks her without mercy, keeping her hair fisted in his grip so she can barely move. Claire’s hips buck as his thumb drags roughly over her swollen clit, intent and determined to wring her dry. The door behind her back rattles and she’s so fucking far past caring about who walks by hearing her scream this man’s name like he’s God.

“Shit, you like that? Your hair’s fucking amazing,” he mumbles as he tugs and pulls, dropping to bite and suck red welts into her neck again, marking her inside and out. “Thought about this so much, Claire, missed you all the fuckin’ time. Have you stuffed full of my cock all fuckin’ day if I could. You want that?”

Just the idea of it makes pleasure spear through her, her nails sinking into his clothed shoulders because he won’t allow her to move an inch. Claire’s lips parts as he mutters a litany of filth into her ear, her moan catching when he slides a third finger inside her without warning, stretching her almost sore. It’s like being possessed; his fingers inside her and his other hand holding tight to her hair while his lips mark her. Teeth sink into her neck and he sucks hard, the pain making the pleasure spike across her feverish, pink skin.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…” she babbles, so close to crashing over the edge. “Fuck me, fuck me.”

The grip he has on her hair tightens as Claire clenches hard around his fingers. They fuck her hard and fast, the look in his eyes even wilder. She feels her stomach curl and tighten as she comes dirty and quick on his hand, thighs trembling as he pulls out abruptly, her thighs twitching around his waist.

“Shit, shit… taste,” Brad mumbles, bringing his wet fingers to her mouth. Claire sucks and licks his hand greedily, her eyes locked with his as she barely comes down from her high. Her tongue slides over his skin and she is struck dumb by the way he watches her mouth – wild, untamed, unbound. It’s like she’s turned a switch on in his brain; the man inside him who’d been scared to fuck her like this gone completely. “Yeah. Yeah, so fuckin’ good to me, babe.”

Brad releases her hair from his tight grip, her neck a mess of his red marks and her own come on her lips. His fingers release from her eager mouth and he lets her wobbly feet hit the floor.

“God, I love you so much,” she says as he bends, lifting her over his shoulder effortlessly, that strong arm holding her waist tight. It’s a weird comfort, that he can take care of her, that he’s so strong and capable and willing to put her first, even though she can tell he wants to get his cock inside her and fuck her brains out.

A palm crashes sharply over her ass when she wiggles on his shoulder and Claire gasps. He tosses her onto the bed carelessly, her body bouncing against the mattress. Claire’s soft thighs are sticky and sweet, her dress bunched around her hips and sticking to her glistening skin, hair messy and lips swollen and she’s almost ashamed at how badly she wants him inside her. But Brad’s there, on top of her in a second and _wild_, fists gripping either side of her dress. It tears and pops and buttons go flying across the floor, her breasts completely exposed. The dress is as ruined as she is.

“Jesus look at ya,” he growls, his hands shoving fabric out of his sight because they mar his view of her pale, freckled skin and her juicy curves. “Whole fuckin’ meal. All night you sat there with nothing on under this thing, and now look at you, Claire. All mine.”

“Always yours,” she replies breathlessly as he leans over, sucking her tits into his mouth. She keens and cries when he bites at the underside of her breast, his hands groping everywhere he can touch.

Claire reaches for him desperately, wanting to touch too, but he grabs her wrists tight, pins them down to either side of her head like there’s no strength in her at all. All she can do is cant her hips up, desperate for him to just fuck her, to stop the teasing and split her apart.

“Yeah, you want it, don’t ya?” he presses his clothed crotch between her bare legs and it’s nowhere near fucking enough for what she needs. Brad just smirks, tightens his hold on her wrists and sucks her tits. “Two fucking weeks of sending me nude photos, teasin’ when I can’t do any fuckin’ thing about it. You make me this. Hard all the fucking time, thinking about you.”

There’s something intense when he talks to her like this; runs his mouth like he always does, trips over words because he can’t get them out fast enough. It’s just so much _more_ now.

Brad pulls her arms as he kisses down her stomach, pinning her wrists next to her hips while his mouth works lower. Claire struggles against his hold, just to see if she could even try and break away. All Brad has to do is swirl his tongue down the sensitive flesh over her hip bone to make her whine and plead, and she forgets about taking control, only ever wants more of him.

“Need you inside me,” Claire begs brokenly, biting her swollen lip as he stubbornly ignores her, instead licking up the wetness staining her thighs. “_Brad_!”

“Not about what you want, Claire,” he says, voice rough and almost angry. “Need to taste you. So fuckin’ sweet.”

He eats her out with greed, his hands rough and tight on her wrists as if he’s having trouble focussing. Her shoes tumble to the floor as her toes curl, Brad’s beard scratching her skin as he licks up every drop from her cunt. His eyes lock with hers down the line of her body as he has the balls to smirk into her – Claire doesn’t know why until he sucks hard at her clit and her vision goes white and starry, head thrown back as he teeters her near a forced edge.

“Fuck! Son of a bitch…” Claire curses as he brings her up to the brink and stops abruptly, her hips bucking uselessly because she has zero control. His grip is iron now, her knees on his shoulders. “Not funny.”

She can feel that fucking smirk and see the dark glint in his eye before his tongue dips and teases inside her wet cunt, pulling back again just before she starts to tip over the edge once more. Brad keeps her like that, twice bringing her right to the edge she burns and aches and it’s too much, too much, her head and body broken, begging for release he won’t give. Claire struggles hard against his grip, knowing she only has to say one word and the edging would stop: but she doesn’t want to say anything except _please_ over and over, shoving her hips into his face.

Suddenly, Brad grunts and pulls away, dropping her wrists wordlessly, eyes like ice pouring over her marked body, like he’s standing back from a masterpiece. Something inside her tells her not to move, not to touch apart from to lean up, balanced on her elbows, chest heaving from the breath she’d held as he worked her over.

“Look at ya,” he growls, hands flexing indistinctly. “You gonna be a good girl?”

As she nods, he pulls off his clothes quickly, his skin tanned and rough where she’s pale and soft. God, she could write poetry about the way his forearms flex as he wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing and staring at her.

The burning ache between her legs has faded to sharp desire, that primal need to be fucked and filled, stretched and _owned_ by this incredible man. He truly is stunning, more than she thinks he knows, more than anyone realises. Now, though, she just wants to taste him.

Unconsciously, Claire licks her lips, staring at his cock as he walks around the bed to her side table. Her brow knits in confusion as he rummages inside it. “What are-”

“You remember the video you sent me, don’t ya?” He interrupts, and she blushes bright pink. “Where is-”

“Next drawer down,” Claire mutters, pressing her thighs together at the idea. God, she wants it so bad; the night she’d made that dirty movie for him was one fuelled by hormones and need for him when he wasn’t there. “Is this payback?”

“Revenge, more like,” Brad replies, pulling the second drawer open and grinning. He finds her little dark blue bullet vibrator and clicks the button experimentally. It buzzes faintly and her heart definitely stutters at the way he looks between her and her toy before he turns it off and tosses it on the bed. “Shit, wonder what else you got hiding in there. They all think you’re all fucking sweetness and light, but I know _you_, Claire. I know what you want. You just gotta earn it.”

He pulls her arm sharp and roughly, her weight nothing as he drags her to sit on the edge of the bed, his cock hard and thick and long and right where her mouth is watering for a taste of him. God, she’d forgotten how big his dick is – more than two of her hands can take at any time, hot and thick and salty on her tongue when he lets go.

“I’ll be good,” Claire mutters as he slides his fingers through her messy hair, gripping her a little once more. Above her, Brad is biting his lip, tapping his cock against her cheek, her mouth opening up for him. “Let me do it, Brad, I can take it. I missed tasting you so bad.”

Brad’s cock slides inside her mouth slowly, her jaw almost aching from how thick he is – they haven’t done this for a while, even before he’d left for filming and she wants it so much. Claire is soaked again, and she has to resist the urge to touch herself, grabbing the sides of his hips just to stop the temptation.

Claire moans as he brings his other hand up and gathers her wild, wavy hair, pulls it so her face is unhidden. She sneaks a look up and finds him manic, his pupils blown dark as he thrusts shallowly into her mouth, his jaw tight as he fucks her pretty face.

Finally, he pulls out and lets her catch her breath, her hands clutching at his hips. There are tears in her eyes and the taste of him lingering on her tongue as she gasps for air, leaning in and licking and sucking his length, his cock grinding against her cheek.

“So good, so good, shit, fuck,” he says, shoving his dick into her mouth again. Claire sucks hard, almost gagging as he loses control. She’s not sure she can breathe or move her head, can’t do anything except take his cock fucking into her eager mouth as wetness soaks from her aching cunt into the bedsheets. “Claire, fuck, so good, shit, shit, shit…”

Her hair tumbles back in waves as he steps away from her, squeezing himself to keep from coming. Pride swells that she took him, all of him, and _loved _it, that he almost broke and came too quickly. Her chest heaves for breath, licking the drool from her swollen, sore lips.

“Why’d you stop?” Claire asks as he steps back towards her, bending and kissing her senseless in answer. Brad shoves his tongue into her mouth, and she kisses him back just as hard, him grabbing her tits and twisting her nipple until she cries out in pleasure.

“Need inside you,” he pants, manhandling her back onto the bed, fumbling for the vibrator. “Need to fuck you.”

In a blink of her eye, he’s flipped her around, the speed dizzying as he brings her to sit on her haunches, his arms strong and tight around her waist. She can feel him, hard and thick against her ass, his chest rough against her shoulders.

“Holy shit,” she gasps as he reaches down with his broad hands, pulling her soaked thighs apart. Their bodies are flush together, pressed so tight that she can feel his skin sticking to hers. It almost hurts as he enters her, his nose pressed to her temple, tension rippling through his flexing forearms back and secure around her waist.

Claire scrabbles and clings to his arms around her as he pushes deep, deep into her body. Her eyes bug as he stops and she can’t help but clench down on him, trying hard to take it all at once.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he whispers, dropping and kissing her shoulders. “Fuckin’ tight, so beautiful. Love you so much.”

It’s like nothing she’s ever felt; so full and tense, her belly coiled around the threads of pleasure coursing through her. He hasn’t even moved, just lets her get used to the feel of him splitting her apart, his smell surrounding her. The air around them is thick in her lungs and she could come like this, she thinks, just with his arms wrapped around her waist and his lips on her neck telling her he loves her. It’s more than that, too, like he’s out of her control and her brain can barely keep up with all he’s giving.

Pleasure spikes through her spine as his hips thrust hard and sharp, her body jostling with the force. Claire cries out each time, helpless as he fucks her quick and dirty.

“_Braaaad…_” Claire whines, yelping as he snaps his hips again, harder, quicker. “Come on…”

“You complaining, Claire?” he says, fucking her slow and torturous. “Maybe you need a hand, I don’t know.”

The buzzing sound hits her ear a second before she feels it; the vibrations on her clit make her gasp and buck and writhe. His arms wrap around her torso like he’s squeezing the life out of her one orgasm at a time. Brad pulls out and slams into her again and again and again, the wet sounds reverberating from the walls, nails digging hard into the tight hands. His spare hand is there at her throat, holding her head still as he uses her, fucking her hard, the toy ramped up on her clit.

“Fuuuuuuck!” Claire shouts, strangled, his rough hand at her neck putting enough pressure to make her see stars.

“Come on, come,” he sounds as broken as she does, but refuses to stop hammering into her, his hips slapping roughly into her ass. “Soak me. Come on my fuckin’ cock. Mine.”

Claire screams his name, uncaring as she comes hard and fast on him, cunt clenching wildly at finally being given release. She shakes and quivers and feels him go even harder inside her.

Brad doesn’t let up – fucks her harder, tossing away the vibrator and shoving her face down into the bed. He hauls her ass up higher into the air: no part of her body works now – she’s his and she can take all of his fantasies, and he can take hers. Nothing’s ever scared her as how much she loves him fucking her like this, like he could crush her and choke her and make her brainless from his cock and his fingers and his talented, smart mouth. Her cheek is pressed to the sheets and she just can’t stop coming.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Brad grunts, grabbing fistfuls of her ass and hips as he hammers her. She can’t speak or move, just lays there as he keeps her orgasm going, her vision whiting out again when his hand cracks hard over her ass cheek. He stills inside her as she whimpers from the pain and the searing pleasure, the tension in his hips keeping him from pounding her again. “Need to see your face.”

She pants as he turns her over onto her back, admiring her face. Claire is a mess of sweat, tangled hair, welts and bruises and she feels like a fucking goddess the way he looks at her.

“Hi…” Claire says breathlessly, pink and flushed from cheek to chest.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, lady.” Brad wraps a hand around his cock and jerks off, licking his lips as they turn into a satisfied smirk. Her body is still reeling back from the force of her orgasm, but she wants it again, wants to come with him. “You’re gorgeous. Just… perfect.”

Her hand slides into his hair as he covers her soft body with his, Brad’s lips claiming hers when his cock slides back into her. Claire cries out immediately, tender and nerves frayed, but she wants him to come inside her, too, to fill her full. He’s still so thick and she’s tight, clenching rhythmically around him in aftershocks.

“Fuck me,” she whispers as he doesn’t move, and she thinks maybe he’s scared it’s too much for her. That he’s too much, his weight and his cock and the bruises and redness over her. “Please. One more. Wanna feel you.”

“Shit,” Brad groans into her neck, pressing his forehead to her skin. “Can’t say no to you. Still so tight, Jesus.”

In a second, he has her wrists pinned above her head with one hand, the other arm braced next to her. Her muscles burn as he fucks her open, wetness running down her thighs and her sore backside. It feels almost too much but he keeps kissing her cries away, his insistence melting away any doubts she has about being able to take him again. She has to tell him it’s okay to take what he wants, to be selfish because he never is, especially with her, and damnit Claire wants him to break her again.

“Harder,” she orders, her legs around his waist so she’s bent in half: she doesn’t need his sweetness, his acquiescence, when she knows she can take all of him one more time. “Come on. Fuck me, Brad.”

It’s all he needs before he’s pounding her into the mattress, slamming into her again and again. Claire screws her eyes shut as he gets erratic, as her body tightens and clenches around him again. She cries his name and arches her back as he tilts his hips and she comes one last time. Brad shouts and stutters and goes deeper, harder, splits her in two and fills her with his come. Rough, demanding hands scrabble up and clutch hers as he stuffs her full, his cock twitching inside her with the force of his release.

Neither says a word. Claire collapses back as he falls on top of her, panting and sweaty. She’s dizzy and breathless and so fucking sore, she can’t move again, unable to take any more. His come drips out of her cunt as he pulls his dick out and she loves the feeling, that only she gets that part of him forever now, because they belong to each other, with each other.

She doesn’t know how long they lie they together, her head totally taken over by how her body feels, which muscles hurt and how she’s still clenching around nothing, his come slowly seeping out.

He kisses the bite marks on her neck, soothing them with his tongue. “Claire… y’okay?” he mumbles, rolling off her body; she misses the reassuring weight immediately. “Too much?”

It takes all she has to shake her head, chest heaving. “Nearly. No.” She burns all over, but – oh God – she wants to do that again one day. It’s special, so fucking special, that he trusts her so much to give her this, to give all of himself.

“God, look at your wrists,” he says quietly, his eyes dark as he sees the bruises forming there. “Shit. I’m so-”

“If you tell me sorry, I’ll slap you,” she jokes, giving him a lazy grin, still not moving. “Loved it. Love you.”

Her eyes are already heavy and there’s nothing she wants more than sleep. Claire winces as she tries to move, her hips and ass still tender from his rough hands that had just taken, taken, taken.

“No, no, no,” Brad mutters, voice ragged from shouting her name. “Don’t. Just stay there.”

Claire lets her eyes close; she doesn’t know how long he takes, but she whimpers when there’s a soothing warmth between her thighs, tentative and slow. She manages to sit up slightly, looking down to see him clean her up. For her sins, he blushes bright red at the ears and across his cheeks when he realises what a mess he made of her.

“Well look at that,” Claire breathes and collapses back onto the bed. “Didn’t even have to order you around to clean up after yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, placing a tender kiss to her knee. “Don’t fuckin’ get used to the pampering, alright?” Brad grins and folds the warm washcloth, cleaning her thighs and ass even more carefully. “Don’t want ya getting spoiled.”

“I got you,” Claire replies on a yawn. “I’m already spoiled.”

For all the incredible sex they have, though, it’s hard to beat the feeling of him wrapped around her, muttering in her ear how amazing she is, how he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the entire world to get her to love him. Claire falls asleep with Brad’s fingertips tracing delicate patterns on her stomach and she knows he’s going to be here forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even linking my Tumblr to this one. I'm around, okay?


End file.
